by M. S. Parker
“It's been years,” I said.
“Nah, gotta be like riding a bike.” He gave me a sideways look. “No harder than dropping bottle caps in a can from across the barn.”
Of course he'd noticed the hobby I'd started at home. Tossing the bottle caps from all over the barn into an empty bean can was my new way of testing my hand-eye coordination. Or that's what I told myself. Sometimes the angle I leaned to make the throw triggered the vertigo, but that made the practice all the more important to me. Like I could somehow force my way through the dizziness like I'd learned as a kid to ignore the way gunshots had made my body involuntarily jump until it had stopped happening. Also, Dr. Bouton had told me that I should stay away from firearm and target practice, because the decibels could further damage my inner ear. Just one more restriction that erased my former life. So I drank and threw bottle caps.
“Might play you in a bit,” I said. “After another round or two.”
“It's not me I think you should play with,” he countered.
The foursome of women glanced our way, posed over their game, giggled, and glanced at us again. The two shorter women, with their straight blonde hair and round hips, were clearly related. Sisters, most likely. The tallest had black curls escaping from a long braid, brushing her bronze skin. She was stick thin and stood as straight as a silo. Completely different appearances, but none of them were my type.
The fourth one, however, kept catching my eye but I couldn't figure out why. Her hair was dyed a deep red and fell in loose waves over freckled shoulders. About an inch of black hair showed at her scalp, and the contrast stirred something in my gut.
“Bullseye,” Blake said.
“What?” I asked, returning to my beer.
“That redhead is a good player. Just got a bullseye. I thought you were watching.”
“Must have missed it,” I said, draining the last of my beer.
Blake smiled and signaled the waitress. She trotted over with two more tap beers and a big smile for me. Blake hadn't been kidding when he said the Kansas girls were on the hunt for new blood. I'd been away long enough that I qualified.
“How about a round for the ladies over there,” Blake said, handing the waitress cash. “And let them know Haze here is challenging the winner.”
“You're Haze Welch, aren't you?” The waitress leaned against the table. “I was in your brother Teague's class. Kimmy Frost.”
Not surprising. Pretty much everyone in here had been born and raised in this town. If I looked hard enough, I could probably see some of the people I graduated with.
Kimmy let her pink-glossed lips pout a little as she turned to me. “You a big darts player, Haze?”
“Not really,” I said with a polite, but distant smile. “I just need to work on my hand-eye coordination.”
“There's a back room with a pool table.” Kimmy leaned down until I could smell her perfume. “You and I could play back there. Let me show my appreciation for your service.”
Yeah, that was one I hadn't heard before. Still, I kept it polite. “Thank you. I think I'll finish my beer for now.”
Kimmy frowned, but went to deliver the shots and Blake's message. I watched the bottle redhead from the corner of my eye. Red hair, black streaks, the image swam in my memory more intoxicating than the beer. Even a head injury hadn't been able to get that girl out of my head. Not surprising. If nearly four years hadn't done it, why should a two-week coma?
“Haze's got it made,” Blake said with a grin. “Kimmy or Bullseye?”
“How about neither,” I said, looking down at my half-empty.
“No way,” Blake said. “You're not turning this down. Think of it as physical therapy.”
“I'm fine,” I said, finishing my beer.
“Come on, man. You need this. It's like the start of getting your old life back.”
I'd never have my old life back. I didn't say it, but apparently my face said it for me, because Blake kept going.
“How about the start of your new life? If not for you, then do it for her.” He gestured with his chin, unable to contain that smirk of his. “Looks like she won you fair and square.”
I glanced at the foursome again and saw the redhead being pushed toward our table by her friends. Her cheeks were heating up to match her hair. Freckled skin. Not unattractive, but not that creamy shade of pale. Hazel eyes, I thought, not blue. Not bright laser blue that seemed to cut through me.
“Hi,” the blushing darts champion said. “I'm Tara.”
“This is Haze,” Blake spoke for me. “He keeps talking a big game, but I think you can take him.”
I suppressed the urge to glare at him as I carefully stood. I held out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Tara. You throw a good game.”
“Thanks,” she said. Her hand was small, but strong.
We stood next to the booth for a beat too long and Kimmy returned, her lips curved into a smile that looked a bit too much like a sneer for my taste.
“This round's on me, gentlemen. Oh, and the pool table's free for us, Haze.”
Tara's blush brightened and she looked at the floor.
Annoyed, I suddenly decided that a game of darts wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. “I promised Tara here I'd play darts.”
Before Kimmy could come up with some sort of reply, Blake stood up and hailed a group of men who'd just come through the door. When he grinned at Kimmy and mentioned that his friends were fellow doctors, she smiled and stepped aside to let Tara and me pass without a word. The doctors joined Blake and I knew this was his way of making sure I didn't come back.
“I'm trying to grow it out,” Tara said, touching her hair when she saw me looking at it.
“I like it how it is,” I said. “Bold.”
The problem was, Tara was anything but bold. In contrast to her sweet conversation and shy smiles, my memories of the other redhead burned. Even soaking wet and confused from her fall in the pool, Leighton had been sharp and sure.
Typical rich girl, I supposed, she'd been so sure she'd get everything she wanted that she'd had no manners at all. I knew I wasn't exactly being fair to Leighton. I hadn't known her...except intimately. I had no idea who she really had been or who she was now.
Tara was even timid in her flirting. “You're just trying to give me false confidence.”
Confidence. That's what Leighton had. The confidence to crawl across my lap and take what she wanted. Shit. I shifted my stance and hoped that Tara didn't notice. Some women might've taken it for a compliment that my jeans were suddenly a bit tight, but I had a feeling that Tara was the sort of person who might be embarrassed. Either way, I wasn't about to tell her that it wasn't the thought of her, but another redhead who'd put me into this predicament.
Tara's friends returned with more shots and whispered advice that I tried not to hear. They were all young, and I didn't only mean the fact that they were probably just barely twenty-one. These were small-town girls who hadn't seen more than this bar and maybe a couple college parties.
I finished another beer and decided Tara was wholesomely beautiful. The freckles, the blushing, all of it contributed to that image. Then there was how, every time she leaned out to throw a dart, her shirt tightened around the swell of her breasts. Her small waist rounded to a heart-shaped bottom that was hard to ignore.
I rubbed my hand on the back of my neck. I was feeling overly warm and knew it wasn't only from the alcohol or the crowd.
“How about we get a little air?” she suggested, a new sort of tension radiating from her.
“Sure,” I said. I gestured with my arm and followed her outside.
Once we started walking, it seemed Tara was in danger of losing the boldness brought on by just the right level of alcohol. The cool breeze was sobering and she stood at the edge of the parking lot, looking a bit lost as to what she should do next.
Apparently I was going to have to take the initiative if I wanted this to go any further. I still wasn't sure if that's what I w
anted, but I knew an easy and gentlemanly way to buy myself a bit of time. “Can I walk you home?”
She smiled, relieved. “Yes, please. I just live a few streets over.”
I didn't bother to point out that in this town, there were only a few streets that close anyway. The main two roads consisted of the bar, a bank, the post office, a small chain grocery store, and two churches. The other two roads had another church, a Mom and Pop grocery store, some small houses and a few bigger ones that had rooms for rent or apartments above the single car garages.
It was to one of those apartments that Tara took me.
“You should come in.” Tara stood in front of the open door and looked up at me. “I could, um, make us some coffee.”
I smiled. “I'd like that.”
I followed her inside, pausing to take off my shoes when she did the same. She gestured toward the obviously second-hand couch, the stain on her cheeks deepening as she looked everywhere but at me. It didn't take a psychic to know she wanted more than coffee but was too shy to make the first move.
Fuck it.
As she shut the door I turned and kissed her. I kept my lips gentle, not wanting to misread her signals, but her mouth opened and she pressed her body against mine. She tasted of the sweet shots she'd taken to bolster her courage, and she moaned as I explored her mouth. My body reacted even as my mind pulled toward the memory of someone else. I shoved it aside and let my hands trail up Tara's sides. Her breasts were heavy, soft, her curves more generous than...I stopped myself.
Maybe this was a bad idea. Say goodnight, I thought, just head home now.
“Please stay, please,” Tara murmured against my mouth.
She wrapped her arms around my neck and wriggled against me. Blood rushed south, and I felt myself start to harden. Maybe Blake was right, and I needed this just to complete my recovery. I hadn't been with a woman since before the accident, and even then, it'd been sparse enough I'd generally taken care of things myself.. Since the accident, however, I hadn't even done that. Getting laid could clear my mind, prove I was really over my injuries. I could move on. Make a fresh start.
Tara tugged at my shirt. She might've been hesitant about making the first move, but there was no doubt about what she wanted.
“There's the bedroom,” she whispered as she ran her fingers over the short hair at the base of my skull. “I could light some candles.”
I stopped her with a deeper kiss, walking us back toward the couch. Frilly pillows and candles would cool my body's insistence that I follow through. And I didn't want to risk keeping going while I was standing. Getting a bit dizzy while sitting was one thing. Falling down in the middle of making out would be a definite mood-killer.
When I felt the couch against the back of my knees, I eased myself down onto it, careful to keep my head straight. She followed as I'd hoped she would, putting one knee on either side of my thighs.
She was wearing a skirt and moaned as she ground down against me. I slid my hands up her smooth thighs until I was grasping her ass. Her panties were soft cotton, and I vaguely wondered if her bra was the same. My unasked question was answered when she grabbed the bottom of her shirt and pulled it over her head. I leaned forward, licking and kissing the tops of her breasts, then moving down to cover her nipple through her bra. She writhed against me.
“Condom?” she breathed.
I started to nod, then realized that probably wasn’t a good idea. Instead, I kept my mouth on her chest as I shifted her and reached into my back pocket for my wallet. I might not have had sex since Leighton, but that hadn't meant I hadn't kept myself prepared. The celibacy hadn't been intentional.
I tore open the wrapper and reached between us to free my cock. I was almost painfully hard now and the sensation of my fingers rolling the latex over my throbbing shaft was almost too much. I really hoped she was close or this was going to be embarrassing.
“Are you sure?” I asked before I took hold of her hips.
She looked down at me, her hazel eyes darkened to nearly brown. “Yes.”
I nodded and eased her down onto me. She was tight and wet, and oh so hot. I closed my eyes, forcing myself to take it slow. I remembered an old trick my brothers told me about once and started mentally reciting baseball statistics until I was sure I wasn't going to go off the moment I was all the way inside.
She moaned as I held her down on me, gently rocking her back and forth until I was sure she'd adjusted to me. She put her hands on my shoulders, and I opened my eyes to find her with her eyes closed. That was good. I didn't want to see those eyes and wish they were someone else's. I wasn't planning on a relationship with this girl, but I didn't want to be a complete bastard either.
She started to ride me, her head tossed back, breasts thrust forward. I let her take the lead as I focused on her body, forcing myself to think of her and only her. The way she had freckles all the way across the tops of her breasts and on her stomach. The thin patch of dark curls where our bodies met. Her lush lips and the soft little mewls that were coming from between them.
I could feel her body starting to tighten around mine and knew she was close. I slid one hand around to the front of her and started to rub my thumb across her clit. My own body was starting to feel that pressure inside, and I wanted her to go first. Suddenly, she squeezed her thighs, letting out a small cry of pleasure as she came, and the feel of her pulsing around me made me grab her, thrust up deep inside her. I squeezed my eyes closed as I pressed my face against her chest, but it wasn't her I saw as I came, but rather those challenging blue eyes. I hated myself in that moment, but let myself have it.
A minute or two later, I raised my head and leaned back against the couch. Tara smiled down at me as she climbed off. She straightened her clothes as I pulled off the condom, grimacing.
“Trash can's in the kitchen,” she said, gesturing. “I'm going to get cleaned up.”
I nodded and watched her go as I tucked my cock back into my pants. I stood carefully, hearing the bathroom door close. I quickly went into the kitchen, disposed of the condom and washed my hands.I felt bad for not sticking around until she at least came out of the bathroom, but I didn't want to talk. Hell, I didn't know what to say. Thanks? Hope to see you soon, even though that would be a lie. That night with Leighton had been the only time I'd ever slipped out after having sex without even a note.
Until now.
The physical release had done nothing to stop the pounding in my head as I hurried down the outside stairs, but it wasn't the vertigo threatening to make an appearance, but the memory of those blue eyes that sent me home to recover.
Chapter 7
Leighton
My ears rang and I could still feel the bass pumping in my chest as Paris and I pushed through the crowd to the corner of the street. The break between sets was short, just enough time to grab some fresh air, but more importantly, a quick smoke. The sickly sweet smoke from the joint made me laugh before Paris even passed it over. A tight knot of young guys next to us had the same idea and the distinctive smell of marijuana drifted out into the street.
“They weren't this popular last month,” Paris observed as she looked around at the throng who'd come out to hear the band.
“You must be their good-luck charm,” I said before taking a drag on the joint.
I closed my eyes for a moment, letting myself enjoy the way the world around me smoothed out. When I opened my eyes, Paris was looking at the band's poster plastered on the alley wall.
“Yeah, the drummer wasn't bad, but now I'm thinking the front man might be more fun.”
“They always look like that, playing it up for the crowd,” I said, handing her back the joint.
The guys next to us let their comments about our dresses, shoes, and shapes get louder, clearly hoping that we'd take the compliments and want to thank them. I rolled my eyes and Paris turned her back to them, intentionally giving them a good look at her firm behind while ignoring them at the same time.
“We could go backstage, if you want. You know, get away from the general admission tickets.” She pitched her voice loud enough for the guys to hear.
“I'm not up for hearing all about chord progressions and talks with big record labels. Too boring. At least this band's got a beat I can dance to. Remember your fling with that guy in the jazz band?”
“Experimental jazz.” Paris sighed on a smoky exhale. “Yeah, he was sexy, but that noise was awful. And he was poor as shit.”
A couple of the guys behind her had either gotten brave or stupid – I was guessing the latter – and started to step between us. Paris flicked her ash at their feet and grabbed my elbow, spinning me back through the crowd. The bouncer opened the velvet rope without a second glance, and we strolled back up to the VIP lounge.Ricky sat in our horseshoe booth with both arms hooked over the strapless shoulders of a pair of bleach blondes. One was in vivid green, and the other in a blinding orange, but everything else matched from the style of their dresses, to their overdone eyeliner, and rhinestone hair clips.
Seriously? Rhinestone?
“Identical twins,” Ricky said with a triumphant grin.
“Look again.” I shook my head. “And you might want to lay off the shots.”
Ricky peered at both the bleach blondes in turn, seeing that aside from their identical hair and boobs, they actually looked different. He grinned at me, then spoke to them, “Sorry, ladies, but my real diamonds are back. Red and real's what does it for me.”
I repressed the desire to roll my eyes at his statement, watching as he shooed them out of the booth. They scowled at me as the waiter Ricky signaled escorted them from the lounge. When Paris and I sat down, a bottle of chilled champagne appeared, and Ricky sat up to pour for us like nothing had happened.
“So who's ready to dance?” he asked, his eyes sliding over to me.
“I think I'm going to have to call it,” I said, my words slow and sticky from the marijuana. “Grandfather's been calling.”
I pulled out my phone to try and sell the lie. When I looked at the screen, it took a few minutes for me to realize it was actually true. A line of four missed calls and Grandfather wasn't a man who was used to waiting.